Agony and Ecstasy A love story
by icingsugar
Summary: Michelangelo/Leonardo da Vinci and Leonardo da Vinci/Salai. More based on historical context than the game. Leonardo and Salai encounter Michelangelo in the Vatican and are forced to remember their past together in Florence. Slash. Please R&R.
1. Cesena- 1502

**AN:** **AN: Michelangelo/Leonardo da Vinci with mentions of his relationship with Salai. I wrote this four years ago with plans to eventually turn it into a long story which spans over two decades. Although this is more based on history than AC I thought that since there is already a Leonardo/Salai following on here, it might be worth posting. There is a gap between the two chapters which I have not yet written, so the story does not yet make sense.**

 **Trigger Warning: This chapter contains a graphic non-consensual scene which may upset some readers, but is essential to the plot. Please do not read if there is a chance this will affect you negatively.**

 **Cesena: 1502**

The bread and wine had been set on the long table in front of the two men. The main course was still to come. Brown eyes met blue across the space as the older man pressed the goblet to his lips, his hand trembling slightly. Hoping his companion hadn't noticed, he returned the drink to the table and forced himself to take a deep breath. The air was muggy and he felt the cloth of his shirt clinging to his back.

"Cesena is so pleasant at this time of the year." The younger man said in between mouthfuls of bread. "And the wine is especially sweet in this region…don't you find?"

"I do." The older man took another sip from the goblet to agree with the point. He found the low fuzz which was beginning to fill his mind a relief, although his body was still tense and uncomfortable.

"And now I have this wonderful map of yours, I can explore my territory and truly make the most of this wonderful capital. I shall have to have a wine named after you...something full bodied and thoughtful."

The other man did not reply, and instead found himself gazing out of the window behind his companion. The sun had begun to set over the low hills and the sky was turning a deep crimson in the distance. A rattling of dishes announced the arrival of the main course and he relaxed a little as two young men set the table with the meat and fish platters, bowing slightly to the other gentlemen as they left. He reached across the table to one of the silver plates and helped himself to some grapes, picking them off the stem one by one as the other man ate the red bloodied meat directly from the bone.

"I have to say…" the younger man announced, in-between mouthfuls "I was sorry to hear about your bronze horse. It's just tragic…the French have no taste."

"That is okay." He plucked off another grape. "It was becoming quite the challenge. I was worried that it would never be finished."

"Nonsense, Leonardo." As the man spoke, a line of blood slowly trickled its way down his chin and the artist felt himself shiver. "You have not let me down yet and the truth is it is uncommon for me to accept a request to dine with an employee. Consider yourself lucky." Leonardo trembled once again, although he could not place the source of his unease.

"I do Sir. It has been a great pleasure to share your company." Leonardo reached once again for the platter and drew back a handful of tomatoes. They felt cool in his hand.

"Good. And please, call me Cesare. Sir turns my mind to that awful name they are calling me in Tuscany…Duke Valentino…they make it sound as though the rivers of Cesena are running red with the blood of my victims."

Leonardo noted the blood on his companion's chin and tried to compose his racing mind. "I do not pay attention to gossip." He lied, pushing the uneaten tomatoes to one side of his plate, his appetite gone for the moment.

"That is what I like about you Leonardo…" He smiled coldly across the table. "You exist in your own little world…full of maps and parchment and ink. Not to mention that servant you keep in your company…beautiful, is he not?"

Leonardo felt himself tense up once again and this time he was sure that Cesare Borgia had noticed. The younger man watched him carefully across the space, a smile playing closely on his bloodied lips.

"Yes." He cleared his throat a little. "I suppose he is."

Cesare raised one eyebrow for a moment, before dropping his head to return to his food, unaffected. "Now tell me, because I know you requested my company for a reason, what is it that you want from me?" He asked, once again filling his mouth with slaughter.

Leonardo took a deep breath and raised his head to meet the other's eyes across the table. He could feel his pulse quickening beneath his fingertips; he was not usually so nervous in front of his patrons, but that name kept rising to the forefront of his mind: Duke Valentino. "I only wish to stay in your presence a little longer…to complete my work."

Cesare gave a full bodied laugh that seemed without an ounce of humour and placed his goblet on the table a little too heavy-handedly, making the artist flinch a little in his seat. "You want money Leonardo…just say it. I won't chastise you. If I am honest, you are perhaps the best craftsman I have had in my money and you naturally want a raise…I understand."

Leonardo shook his head, his eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of him. "It is not that Sir. I have working on something…a project if you will, on the nature of flight within birds. Only, it has quickly become rather costly. I know that it is not what I am paid to do, but I feel that the outcomes of this project may have military benefits if I am able to continue my work."

"How much do you need?"

"Just enough to allow for the project to continue…an extra twenty percent on my salary should be enough."

Cesare was silent as he looked the older man over. Leonardo felt that he would never speak when he finally said "I will give you your twenty percent." Leonardo finally let out the stream of breath he had been holding in. "Like I said, I like you, and if you say this project will have benefits, then I believe you. I will have my assistant give you the money by the end of the week. There is just once thing I want from you in return…"

Leonardo felt the relief spread over his limbs as he relaxed into the chair. "Anything Sir…"

"I want you to lend me the boy…Gian…just for tonight." Leonardo froze, his heart dropping into his stomach.

"No." He whispered suddenly to himself, too quietly for the other man to hear. He must have given something away; perhaps he had turned a shade paler, as the other man raised his eyebrow once again.

"That wouldn't inconvenience you too much would it Leonardo? After all, he is just a servant…he is of no relation to you is he?" The artist was sure he detected a smile playing on his lips as he met his gaze.

"No." He cleared his throat. "No, he is not."

"Good." Cesare beamed, lifting the goblet to his lips and finishing the drink in one long gulp. "Then it is settled. You shall have your raise, and I shall have the boy. Have him come to my chambers in one hour. I shall be anticipating his arrival. You may leave."

Leonardo stood up slowly and gathered his cape from the wooden stand near the other man's chair. He once again took a deep breath and felt himself shiver. "You won't…you won't hurt him will you?" He asked quietly.

Cesare turned upwards to look at him, the grin on his lips more obvious from this distance. "Now why would I do that?"

Leonardo slammed open the wooden doors to his chamber and, without looking around the room, grabbed the old book lying open on his desk and threw it on the bed.

"We have to leave." He said to the figure whose long brown ringlets were cascading down the back of the armchair in the corner. "We have to pack everything, and quickly!"

The young man rose from the chair; dark shadows engulfed his nude olive skin in the low flicker of the firelight, his hair parted over his shoulders and resting on his bare chest. "What are you talking about?" A smile played on his lips as he approached the older man who was frantically throwing a pile of garments onto the bed, crumpling the scarlet velvet bedsheets.

"Get dressed Salai, we have to go." He bent down to recover a book of poems which had been discarded, half shielded under the large bed.

Gian ignored his pleas and wrapped his arms around Leonardo's shoulders as he rose, holding him still. "How did the meeting with Valentino go? Did you get the money?"

Leonardo sighed as he threw the book, half-heartedly onto the edge of the bed, he could not meet the younger man's eye as he trembled. "Yes." His voice broke. "He agreed on the twenty percent."

Gian grinned. "Well that's great. I don't know what you're worried about." He pressed his lips to the other man's cheek and moved his naked body closer to the cloaked figure. Leonardo pulled away slowly and held the youth at arm's length.

"You don't understand." He felt his eyes swell with water as his face crumpled in shame. "I have done something terrible my boy." Gian removed himself from the other man's grasp slowly, his brow lowering.

"What have you done?"

Leonardo shook his head; the tears falling freely now down his cheeks. "You will never forgive me."

"What have you done?" Gian repeated his voice a little louder as he felt the fear radiating from the other man.

"He agreed to fund my project on the condition that you go to him tonight."

"Me?" Gian shivered as though his body had been covered in ice, despite the warm fire crackling in the grate behind him.

"Yes." Leonardo averted his gaze to the wooden floor, half expecting the youth to hit him, or worse.

"Oh." He looked at the older man with dark brown eyes across the dim room as he stepped backwards, unsure of what to do. He remained silent for a moment, until the other man spoke, stepping towards him desperately. "You don't have to go. We can leave now…we still have time. Pack your things…we can go to Tuscany and forget everything. I was not thinking clearly when I agreed…"

"You agreed?"

"I had to." He felt his eyes itch. "I'm scared of him Gian; I should have never agreed to work for him and now I have put us both in danger." He wiped his cheeks and sniffled loudly. "But do not worry, there is a coachman who can help us in the stables, he will not ask questions if we leave." He grabbed the youth's cheeks in both hands and kissed his lips firmly. "There is a guild in Florence who will be happy to accept me as a member. We can build our workshop; there are plenty of young craftsmen there looking for an apprenticeship, and Borgia will not follow us there. I am so sorry." He kissed him once again but Gian did not return it, his body still. He slowly walked away from the older man and picked up a white shirt which had been discarded on the armchair and got dressed, his limbs working slowly as though they were stuck in a thick substance.

Once fully dressed he turned to the artist. "I will go to him."

"No!" Leonardo said.

"We need the money." The youth sighed. "And with Borgia as our patron we have a steady income." He picked up his belt and tied it around the green cloth of his hose. "I know that your project is important to you, so I will go to him, but do not expect me to be at your side tomorrow…or the next day." He walked slowly towards the door. "And next time something like this happens, you may consider prostituting yourself out to clients, before you turn to me to use as bait." He said coldly, before removing himself from the room, closing the door heavily behind him.

Leonardo sunk onto the bed and placed his head between his hands. "What have I done?" He whispered to the empty room.

Cesare lounged backwards on the bed, his body covered in a purple velvet robe, as he pressed a goblet of wine to his lips. There was a soft knock at the door and he sat up swiftly, his lips turned upwards in a grin.

"Enter." He boomed. The door opened quietly and Gian entered the room, his body slouching beneath his baggy clothes and his gaze fixed on the floor. "Your master is true to his word." Cesare placed the goblet slowly on his bedside table as he rose. "I thought I would have to go down to your chambers to retrieve you." He walked towards the figure and gleefully noted the way in which his shoulder trembled beneath the white cloth of his shirt. He felt himself begin to stir. "Do you not speak, boy?"

Gian raised his head to meet the other's gaze. "I speak." He said quietly.

Cesare smiled. "Perhaps a little wine will loosen your tongue." He retreated to the low wooden table beside his bed and lifted a glass decanter, pouring the crimson liquid into a spare goblet. "And hopefully it will loosen you in other ways too. Tell me…" He turned to the youth and pressed the cup into his shaking hands. "You have been in the painter's company for some time, have you not? But I wonder…how long has he been fucking you?"

Gian did not answer, nor did he drink the wine. He felt the older man's gaze on his clothed body, looking him up and down as though he were a caged animal in a menagerie. He felt a shudder run down his spine.

"To make myself clear, when I ask somebody a question I expect a reply." Cesare said, his voice echoing around the room.

Gian cleared his throat. "A year. Perhaps a little longer." His voice was quiet. Cesare moved closer as he circled the younger man, his eye moving south to admire the way in which his hose stretched around the soft curves of his buttocks.

"I see." He smiled, moving back to face the youth. "You may think me a sadist, boy. But you would be wrong." Gian plucked up the courage to look the other man in the eye. "Whatever you may think, I am not seeking to offend or belittle your master. However, I am a proud man…I am the Pope's son, and I simply cannot stand seeing other people owning things which I do not have." He suddenly stepped towards Gian, taking him by surprise as he spun him around and pressed against his back, his lips moving towards his exposed neck. "You're master can keep you." He whispered as he grazed his lips along the flesh. "But I just want a taste." He opened his mouth against the skin, his tongue brushing the surface as he moved the youth's ringlets out of the way to suck and kiss at the flesh. Gian did not resist, his body felt frozen like a statue as the older man attacked his neck, his teeth grazing the flesh as he pressed his clothed erection against his arse. "Do you feel how hard I am for you?" He moved to the front of the youth and grabbed his hand, placing it firmly on his groin. "I can't wait to feel your lips wrapped around it."

His breath smelt of alcohol as he grabbed a handful of ringlets near the scalp and pulled the boy forcefully towards him as he kissed his lips passionately, his tongue forcing its way into his mouth. The goblet of wine fell to the floor, untouched, as the older man pulled back to rip open Gian's shirt, the fabric tearing from the force as it joined the wine on the wooden surface. "Beautiful" Cesare whispered, bending down to lick an exposed nipple. Gian remained still, closing his eyes as felt the man's tongue move up his body, licking along his neck and jawline before pushing it back into his accommodating mouth.

"Right." Cesare said, pulling away from his lips, his hands firmly placed on the boy's shoulders. Gian felt his heart drop. "On your knees." He ordered. Gian looked at Cesare, an expression of hurt on his face. He had known that this was coming, but he felt unprepared to comply. His heart thundered in his bare chest.

Cesare moved his right hand from his shoulder and slapped him across the face, sending the youth's ringlets flying backwards into the air. He looked back at the man, his eyes shining and cheek stained red with the handprint.

"I said, on your knees. Slut." He opened his robe with both hands, revealing his swollen stomach, covered with wiry black hairs. His erection stood proud in the open air, a thick length surrounded by a mass of curls. Gian slowly sunk to his knees, refusing to meet the older man's gaze which he felt staring at him, until he was face to face with the erection. "Suck me." Cesare's voice echoed around the chamber.

The younger man gulped as he reached his hand to grasp the base of the penis. He moved his lips towards the head and took it into his mouth, feeling himself gag as he moved slowly along the length. Cesare let out a moan of satisfaction as the youth sucked him, his cheeks concaving as he moved back and forth, quickening his speed, his head bobbing. The older man moved his hand to the back of his head, grasping his long hair as he pressed the younger man's head to him, unable to resist the temptation to thrust into his mouth. "I knew that you would be good at this. You must have had a lot of practice."

Gian felt his eyes stream as he was choked by the thick length being shoved down his throat, pressing against his tonsils and making him gag. Cesare took no notice of his distress, as he picked up speed, grinding himself against into the warmth until the boy could take it no longer and pushed him away as he desperately clambered onto his feet.

Cesare felt himself turn red, his cheeks radiating with heat as he watched the boy cower from him, walking towards the door. "You don't get to leave just yet." He bellowed, quickly rushing forward to grab Gian by the waist and push him down onto the bed. He clambered on top of him and pulled the younger man's hose down in one swoop to reveal his naked arse. He felt his weight struggling beneath him as he ran his hands down the soft curve of his spine before cupping his cheeks, prying them apart to reveal his opening. He bent down to lick at the puckered skin, spitting salvia between his lips before pulling back to insert his swollen index finger. He used his other hand to pin down the youth's hips as he wriggled beneath him, his legs kicking out uselessly as he cried out in pain.

"Now don't pretend that this is your first time." Cesare muttered, inserting his middle finger to join the first. "We all know that you're used to this by now." He moved down to press his lips to Gian's ear, enjoying the fragrant smell of his hair as he licked the lobe. "And it's not just the artist who does this to you, is it? I hear you are quite the regular at the whore-house in town. I wonder…who do you let fuck you for the right price? It's a wonder you are so tight…" He straightened himself once more and removed his fingers, to the relief of the youth whose face was pressed firmly against the sheets, his eyes watering the fabric.

"Let's try to make this easier, shall we?" He used both hands to pull the boy up, forcing him to rest onto his knees, giving himself better access. He pressed his fingertips to the youth's exposed cheek, wiping away the stream of tears before wrapping the same hand around his cock. "Don't worry. It will be over soon. I'm close to bursting." He pushed himself into Gian in one forceful motion, making the other man cry out and arch his back before falling flat against the sheets once again, his cheek hitting the pillow with a thump. Cesare grabbed his thin hips as he thrust himself into the boy's warmth, the feeling the pleasure consuming his senses. The sound of his thighs slapping against fleshy cheeks echoed around the room and he turned his thoughts, briefly, to the artist, alone in his room. He reminded himself to thank him for allowing him the use of his boy, as he felt himself nearing his climax. The youth was almost silent now; only a low moan escaped his lips as his body rocked with the momentum of the thrusts being delivered to him. Cesare felt the beginnings of his orgasm spread from his cock to the rest of his body, and he quickly withdrew from the slickened hole, noticing the stain of blood on his length as he spread himself on the boy's arse cheeks, milking the last of it with his hand and letting out a deep grunt.

He half-collapsed on the boy's arched back as he waited for his breath and heartbeat to slow; allowing himself to play half-heartedly with Gian's ringlets as his chest raised and fell. Eventually, he straightened himself and moved away from the body on the bed, giving the boy once final slap on his right arse-cheek as he withdrew from the bed. He could now hear the low sobs coming from the boy's concealed mouth, as he walked across the room to pick up a fur-lined cloak which hung on his cloak rack. He threw it onto the bed where it landed on the youth's naked body, concealing most of his back from view.

"The money will be with him Friday." He muttered absently as he moved towards the bedroom door. "Tell him that I wish to see him tomorrow to discuss the impact of his project. I'm going for a bath." He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Leonardo had been unable to sleep. He had left a single candle burning in the corner of the room, and had gone to bed, waiting for the footsteps in the corridor to signal Gian's return. Eventually, after what felt like hours, he heard the soft tapping of bare feet from outside the wooden door. It opened and a sliver of light from the corridor streamed into the room. He listened as the youth walked across the room and felt the bed move beneath his weight as he climbed into the warmth of the sheets, pulling them from around Leonardo to wrap around himself. The older man was unable to face him stayed on his side, his eyes transfixed on the whitewashed wall. Eventually, he heard the boy let out a sob and he felt the mattress tremble with his cries. Leonardo could take it no longer and he climbed out of bed, pulling the sheets from Gian's body. He was naked except for a cloak wrapped around his torso. He noticed a small amount of blood staining the bedsheets.

"That's it. We're leaving." Leonardo did not wait for a reply as he paced across the room and re-lit three candles. "Pack your things now, we cannot wait for dawn, I will not sleep in this place a night longer."

Gian slowly rose from the bed, his cheeks glistening in the candlelight. "Where will we go?"

Leonardo turned to face him and felt his heart ache at the sight of him. "Florence, like I said."

They packed everything they owned into their suitcases and Gian slowly dressed in clean clothes from the cupboard, his movements slow and laboured as his body ached with pain. Finally, he discarded the cloak into the trunk, closing the metal clasps and placing it with the others by the door. It was dark outside as they fled the palace. Leonardo had been right about the coachman, and within the hour, they had crossed the border as they rode on into the dawn.


	2. Rome - 1511

**There are mentions of past Florence-based Leonardo/Michelangelo rivalry; for those who are not familiar with what happened between them in Florence I will happily answer any questions through PM…of course my take on it is more slashy, but there is a solid historical context of their hatred. I have played around with the dates here, although Michelangelo and Leonardo did both live in Rome later on in the decade, I have moved it forward a few years to coincide with the painting of the Sistine Chapel.**

 **This is just a segment of what was planned, but I thought somebody might enjoy reading this. Please review. Rated M for mature scenes. Also, please check out my other AC fic "Like a Boy" from Black Flag. Happy reading!**

It always struck Gian how close the air was in St Peters, part of him remarked it was the constant application of intonaco upon the walls, spread with tempera. Another self, one a little more subconscious, knew that he was so uneasy in such places as he wasn't meant to be there. His sins were too broad, profound and rooted deep in his being that even walking upon this ground, which seemed to be constantly covered in a layer of marble dust, sent a shiver down his spine.

"Do we have to do this?" The younger man whispered, his lips brushing the edge of Leonardo's ear. "You know I don't like this place." His voice echoed around the vast space, making him conscious of his own fear. It seemed that the painted walls were gazing down on him, eyes of saints in their hundreds reading his soul. No, he did not like this place one bit.

A smirk was given in reply, but the smile didn't quite reach the man's eyes. "There's no need to feel anxious Salai, this is simply a courtesy visit. I take it you want to eat tonight..." Their footsteps, in time, made music on the floor.

"Meat at least please...I'm sick to death of salad." The boy's eyes darted from corner to corner, suspicious that they were not alone. He had not felt so fearful since his time in Cesare Borgia's company, a period which he wished to forget about entirely.

"Then we must open our workshop to as many commissions as we can. You know this." He reached to touch the young man's shoulder in comfort, his fingertips brushed the curls which lay there and Gian ushered a long, deep sigh.

"I know." His own fingers reached up to touch Leonardo's hand, now rough and laced with lines of age. The years had been kind to his looks but not his hands. The use of lime plaster had left its viscous mark. The older man briefly wondered if Gian would have such scars. He had been gentle with the boy, once he realised his talents were not in the arts, but the years of running the workshop and travelling from place to place would undoubtedly leave some sign upon his beautiful skin. The thought made the artist sad.

The two men turned a corner, their hands still connected, and were confronted by a wild man. His dark hair was stood on end, his loose brown clothes ripped in the elbow and worn in most places, blotches of paint, blue and gold decorated his worried face and settled in his beard. The younger, more savage artist paused just in time to stop a collision which would have undoubtedly sent Leonardo and Gian sprawling onto the dirty floor. The three men looked at each other for a moment, measuring, debating in their minds what action to take. Gian thought this period seemed to last for at least a minute but in reality was much less. Not a breath was passed between them when, in a clumsy turn, Michelangelo spun to walk away back the way he came.

Leonardo seemed to consider his options, being a man of science and philosophy he wasn't one to act on the spur of the moment, unlike the unbalanced man they had just encountered. Then, with a mutter of "Wait here" to Gian, he turned to run after the younger artist.

"Wait." Leonardo panted, having sprinted down three narrow corridors after Michelangelo. "I just want to talk to you."

The younger man had come to a pause as he reached a series of entrances, shielded by heavy wooden doors of the darkest materials. He turned to face Leonardo and their eyes locked. Mahogany against sea green.

"What do you want from me?" The younger man almost whimpered, his knees seemed to give way for a moment and Leonardo was worried he would collapse in a state of shock, but he seemed to gain himself and stood tall once again. "I don't want to talk to you."

The older man sighed. "I must talk...now I have seen you. You must let me." He took a step closer, slowly, like a man stalking his prey as to not scare the poor creature away. Although he had never been hunting, Leonardo was used to such actions from years of analysing, sketching and admiring wild birds. Memories of youth in Vinci and Florence came flooding back momentarily, a poor young boy splashing in streams after fish, walking atop steep hills, watching the way the common bird seemed to glide through the pale blue air, disappearing behind clouds so thick they concealed them completely from sight. The pained look the young artist gave as their eyes met again snapped him back into the present, in the dusty hallways of the Vatican, face to face with his rival of a decade. "Please." He whispered. He had to stop himself from reaching out his hand. That would have almost certainly not gone down well with the agitated man.

"Why must you come here now?" The man almost cried. "Just as I am about to finish...you must leave me be." He turned to go and, on a rare occasion of acting on impulse, Leonardo ran and grabbed his shoulders in a sort of embrace. Holding the man against his will.

"Let me speak." Leonardo muttered, spinning the younger man to meet his gaze, their faces mere inches from touching. "I did not come here for you, but now I have seen you I must speak. I am sorry if I offended you all those years ago, it was not my intent you understand, I would never deliberately hurt you. I just want to explain."

"Explain?" The man seemed to turn from pathetic to furious in a matter of seconds. "Explain what? How you have come here with your slut to show me what I can never have? To flaunt your relationship to make me suffer? I do not want to see. I am busy with work...the most important of my thirty-five years. The Pope will have my head if I do not complete this in time. I will be Goliath instead of David. Saint John instead of Christ. You must let me be."

This exclamation brought a sickness to Leonardo's gut. He suddenly felt weak and very very old. Michelangelo's gaze drifted from Leonardo's eyes to over his right shoulder. A frown suddenly engulfed his entire face.

"I will leave you whores to it." He snapped. The older man spun to see what was behind him. Gian was walking towards them in his carefree manner, his hair swinging around his shoulders.

"I thought I told you to wait." Leonardo sighed turning back to find the corridor was now without Michelangelo's presence.

Gian moved to the older man's side. "Did he just call me a whore?" He looked in the direction of the doors at the end of the hall where Michelangelo had strode off.

"No my dear...he called us both whores." The artist smiled gently, the humour of the remark finally catching up with him.

"Oh. That makes me feel better." The sarcasm rolled off Gian's tongue in such a way it made Leonardo burst with laughter. "Will you chase him?" He concluded.

"No." A sigh. "I find it almost impossible to find a man who doesn't want to be found. We will meet again I am sure of it, he is working in the chapel. His exploits are famous even in Florence." He turned to face Gian and reached to brush an unruly curl from his olive face. "Come. Let us find our patron."

The late afternoon sun drifted through the narrow windows in long red-gold rays highlighting the dust particles which floated through the air, dancing and swirling. Leonardo thought Michelangelo looked beautiful in this light, he could only see his back from the doorway of the hall, but the light made his hair, usually the darkest of colours and still as unruly as the previous times they had met in St Peters, shine with the most wonderful hues. He was wearing what Leonardo had come to think of as his painting overalls which consisted of ill fitting rags in the most dull colours, but even in this attire he seemed to glow.

Leonardo's footsteps echoed around the large hall as he walked towards the other man. He was greeted with the usual suspicious look which the younger artist seemed to pull off so well. Once he recognised his visitor the look softened immediately and was replaced by a half smile.

"You are a man of your word at least." Michelangelo said softly. "I thought you wasn't going to come." He looked around the room to make sure they were alone. "I wouldn't blame you after the way I have treated you these last few days."

"You have nothing to be sorry for you were quite right to be hostile." He moved beside the younger man, to look at the beams of light drifting from the windows below the ceiling. He glanced briefly at his companion, the gold hues glittered in his long eyelashes, he had never noted them before now. "I am a fool for what I did. I hope you will one day forgive me completely." He slowly edged closer until they stood shoulder to shoulder.

There was a moment of silence, Leonardo could almost feel the conflict in the other man's head, he noticed how he shifted his weight from foot to foot, mentally working out what to say. Leonardo held his breath, waiting for whatever conclusion might emerge. Finally the younger man muttered "I have thought about you a lot you know. Over the years."

Leonardo let go of his breath. He had not expected that reply. Now he found himself shifting awkwardly, he suddenly did not know what to do with his hands. Behind his back? Or in front? Surely not by his sides, hanging loose and clumsy? If he had felt his age before, his body suddenly seemed to travel back in time for he felt like a young man again, unimaginably uncomfortable in his own skin. He settled by placing his hands in front and cleared his throat. "Me too."

"I tried to get a whore a few weeks ago. I felt, I don't know, lonely perhaps?" He gave a small laugh. "I couldn't even fuck him. I thought that it was this place, the heavy burden on my shoulders, or the guilt." He turned to face the older man. "But now I know it wasn't. Do you understand?"

Leonardo frowned, then nodded slowly. He suddenly felt, himself, very guilty. He had not realised before what he had done to this man in the prime of his career. He had not realised how his actions would affect him. And he had been keeping track of his prospers, he knew of his ventures in the chapel for instance, and assumed that he was doing well, financially at least. After years of constant worry about his own spendings and income he had always assumed that if one was financially stable and prosperous they couldn't be much happier. Now, confronted by the man who was once his junior but had recently surpassed him in success he felt selfish in his judgement. This man was, by reason, very wealthy and also very unhappy. Unable to fuck a prostitute he said?

"I feel such desire sometimes, I want to rip out my own lustful eyes." The younger man continued, staring at the cold floor. "But I can never feel how I once felt. No matter how hard I work or how many men come into my company. There is no one else for me."

"You are punishing yourself by working like this?" Leonardo frowned, beginning to understand. "All of this...the commissions...the labour...all because you feel guilty? Or want to feel more alive?" The man's brown eyes had not left the floor. "You can't behave like this. You will work yourself to death. I know it. Salai would tell me..."

Now his eyes did snap up. "Ah, Salai." He did not elaborate.

"He has been in my care these past twenty years, I do not expect you to understand him and I. He is my most trusted companion and pupil."

"Then you cannot blame me for being jealous of him. I was envious ten years ago and I will always be so. He has had you as I never have." Their eyes met once again. Leonardo walked a step closer, their bodies now mere inches from touching.

"That is not true. You have had me completely." He reached up to touch a curl on Michelangelo's forehead and felt him tremble beneath his fingertips. "Are we alone?" A whisper.

"Yes. They don't come in here. The old men prefer to pray together in more decorative rooms." The words came out of the younger man's mouth in short gasps. His hands were hanging by his sides, the most unsure of places. Leonardo noted the strength in those arms, the prominent veins and muscle which were visible just below his loose attire, years of having a chisel in his hands had defined him. The older man suddenly felt very hot, flushed, as if all the blood in him had rushed south. He ached. This close he could smell the plaster on the artist's clothes, a powdery scent mixed with something altogether more primal.

"Then I think..." Leonardo's fingers moved down to touch his neck, he could feel the pulse through his skin, his breath, caught, in his throat. "You must let me fuck you."

Michelangelo seemed to stop breathing altogether. The moment stretched out and with it Leonardo's fear of rejection grew. Then, slowly, he moved his hand upwards, along the neck, jawline, until he reached his rivals lips, brushing his fingertips over them he once again felt a tremor. He pushed his fingers further, slowly into the warmth of his mouth, Michelangelo took them in without question, sucking slowly, coating the long fingers with saliva. The image of the younger man's cheekbones con-caving, eyes dark, looking from under thick eyelashes, was almost portrait worthy and he was growing harder by the second, the motion of the other man's tongue against his fingers seemed to coax the blood to his cock, now stiff and strained against the rose material of his upper hose. He closed the gap between them and felt Michelangelo's own desire against him, his hips straining forward for contact.

With his other hand, his given hand, he reached down to loosen the younger man's overalls, struggling with the belt which seemed to be knotted, before letting them drop to the floor. Michelangelo's hands, both free, moved to undo the upper half of his clothing, stripping himself naked. Before Leonardo had time to admire his rival, he felt his own clothes being loosened, his jerkin was removed and his coated fingers dropped from between his rivals lips, allowing the younger man full access to undress him. He felt the air hit his skin, inch by inch, and he moved forward to claim the younger man's lips, pushing their bodies together, the scent of paint and sweat mixing with his own oils. The kiss was violent and needy, Michelangelo used the opportunity to touch as much of Leonardo's skin as was possible, grabbing and moving his hands from his arse to his chest to his neck. A gasp escaped the younger man as Leonardo's fingers moved to his cock, he parted his lips and tongues met, clashing together with the taste of wine. The need became more apparent with the volume of moans, Michelangelo running his teeth along his lower lip, nibbling at the chapped skin, stopping just short of drawing blood. The older man's hand was now moving with an increasing rhythm against the other's cock, the saliva and precum making the motion steady. As the pace was quickened his hips began to buckle in return, straining for deeper contact. The echoes rang around the room, gasps and moans and begging from the younger man to be fucked.

"You have no idea..." Michelangelo started, his lips against Leonardo's jaw, struggling to get the words out in between short intakes for air. "I have been in mourning for years...longing for this." Leonardo moved back to look at him, his hand hovering on the shaft, ignoring the sound the other man made at the loss of motion. "I would think of you at night..." He continued, sounding more pained than ever "My body would ache with pain, and I'd imagine you were there to comfort me, to love me."

Leonardo reached to touch the side of his face, his other hand still paused on the shaft, and he moved to kiss his lips, gentle and chaste. "I have always loved you." He whispered as he withdrew, his hand moving from cheek to jaw. "You have been on my mind every day since we parted. I was terrified sick we would never meet again so I could show you how I feel."

Michelangelo moved his own hand down to his cock to place upon the other. The made Leonardo feel hot and we was suddenly struck by the tenderness of the moment. There was once again a pause of anticipation which was broke when the younger man finally whispered "Then show me."

 **AN: I eventually plan on turning this into a story which spans from the early 16** **th** **century until Leonardo's death in 1519 with a Michelangelo/Raphael and Michelangelo/Salai subplot. Please review and tell me what you think.**


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